You have tilled my heart this day, oh, Lord;
scratching out the corners, left to thrive
and nourish those most loved by you
the tender and fragile; hanging onto life.
My heart’s been tilled this day, oh, Lord
its soul has been watered with burning tears
for those most bent, down-trodden souls
who hold onto hope for Jubilee’s year.
Plant, in these tilled and turned-up places
seeds to sprout up, bold and strong,
thriving in the warm sun of my heart;
waiting for the harvester’s threshing throng.
Fill my soul with clean, flowing water
feeding the broken soil of my heart,
nourishing and fattening the seeds of summer.
The least I can give, is my tilled-up heart.
-Joy S. Barefoot
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